To Act Without Thinking
by Stone Jackal
Summary: Cameron always thought before she acted.


**Title: **To Act Without Thinking

**Summery: **Cameron always thought before she acted...

**Disclaimer: **Not mine! Promise! I'm just borrowing! I'll put them back...

**Author's Notes: **I had an idea, so I tweaked the "Shoulder-Holder" scene a _wee _bit.

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We had sex.

We had sex in the chapel.

We had sex in the chapel of a hospital.

We had sex in the chapel of a hospital we work at.

The only words spoken were his, "I'm proud of you." He's proud? Because I injected a patient with a lethal dose of morphine? Because for once I didn't back out like a little girl and actually did something? Because I ended a man's suffering? But, in doing that, I also ended his breathing.

His hand left my shoulder, and I thought he had gone. But the step-thump quickly returned. He'd shut the door. He returned and took a seat in the pew beside me. Extending an arm across my shoulders, he pulled me against him, pressing my face into his shirtfront. One of his hands wound in my hair, the other rubbed my back.

It was a long time before I could bear to pull back and look up. His eyes were softer than I'd ever seen. My face was red, and streaked with tears, dark bags under my eyes.

I don't know which one made the first move. I don't believe that he had this as his intent, that he closed the door specifically for that purpose. I felt this pull towards him, and saw that he felt one towards me. It was as if all the tension and the arguments and the frustrations and the anger from the past few days had melted away. I didn't think about the needle, didn't think about the gasping, didn't think about the cane-slamming fights, and the insecurity. Nor did I feel any disbelief as to what was happening. All I could think of was the liquid heat of his mouth on my throat, his hands on my breasts, my own hands fumbling with his buttons.

He pushed me back onto the pew, he leaning over me. When he was freed of his jeans, and I of my slacks, when we moved together, I didn't think. I went on feeling, on instinct, and it felt good. His stubble burned like a brand against my neck and mouth. My fingernails made marks down his back. The only sounds in the room were those of heavy breathing and moans. He wiped the mark of tears from my face; I tried to alleviate the lines of pain on his. Our mouths, our bodies melded, and it felt good. I didn't think, just felt, just did, and it felt _good_.

I always thought before I acted. Always. Sometimes all my thinking and considering and planning caused me to lose out. To back out. To miss out. I wanted so desperately to see the world as black and white, no gray area in between. Right and wrong. Good and bad. One way or the other. But it wasn't. And so, I was indecisive. But this, this required no thinking, no hedging, no regret. Just to feel.

We eased apart, careful of his leg. I almost turned away to right my clothing, but then stopped. The intimacy of our previous act made any protest for modesty futile, for we had been as physically close as two people could be. It wasn't anything he hadn't all ready seen.

He stood first, smoothing his jeans back over his leg, then gripped his cane. He offered a hand to me, and I, though surprised by the offer, placed my hand in his. When I was standing, he tugged me to him, dipped his head, and placed a kiss on my lips that paled any before in comparison. It was soft, slow, gentle, and completely unlike any I had just received or would have expected. He cupped my face in his hands, stroking my cheeks with his thumbs. My fingers tunneled through his hair, now wondering ironically if he had locked the door earlier, or if it was just good fortune that no one had entered.

With a final stroke, and smiling that sad, sad smile, he exited the chapel, his shirt still untucked, his jacket flying open. I stood silently, my hand over my mouth as if I still couldn't believe. I adjusted my shirt, tugging at the hem, and nervously straightened my waistband. I stood before the pew, and yet couldn't bring myself to sit down.

Yes, we had sex. In the chapel. Of a hospital. Where we work.

Yes, gray is good.


End file.
